Raphael's My Boyfriend!
by Elphaba-Rose
Summary: Splinter planned on a usual, relaxing Sunday night...Michelangelo had other plans. Slight Raph/Mikey. Xposted to the TC comm.


A.N: Another result of a plot bunny bite, I apologise as I know updates have been rare recently. But this is a one shot so you don't have to worry about that. I warn you know it contains turtlecest hints so if you don't like, you don't read, your loss.

Disclaimer: I do not own. I do not gain. So there.

Raphael's My Boyfriend!

It was a Sunday evening, the type Splinter liked best. It was half an hour before bedtime and his sons were full and sleepy after their dinners. It was difficult, but he always managed to scavenge enough food for them to eat their fill on a Sunday, possibly as a result from the humans topside leaving so many leftovers from their own lunches. It would be back to struggling for scraps tomorrow, but his sons didn't mind so much now they were a little older.

Candles blared in the old train compartments he had set up their home, lighting the dim corners the flickering electric lights of the sewers couldn't reach. He settled down into his rickety wicker chair and pulled the box that served as a table towards him, sinking back into the worn, thick cushions of the chair. The air was thick with waxy fragrance and the after effects of summer rains drifting through the manholes and their much-appreciated dinner.

He nodded with a fond smile at the more boisterous of his sons and with gleeful noises they pelted off towards the battered black and white television in the corner of the train compartment that served as the living room of their careworn yet comfortable home. The youngest switched it on and the sat on the thin, threadbare rug with their legs crossed. Their eyes were instantly drawn towards the picture flittering on the box, not a sound coming from their mouths. They were far too focussed on the precious cartoon images before them.

His eldest, ever the quiet and dutiful child, approached him, amber-brown eyes wide, innocent and eager. As Splinter's smile grew even wider, the old rat reached down next to his chair and picked up a tattered and well-read book. His son's face split into a wide grin, beholding the book as if it were the crown jewels. He avidly and delicately accepted it, then dashed off to sit on the rug not far from his younger brothers. He let the book fall open in his lap and was immediately sucked into a world of swashbuckling pirates and buried chests of treasure.

Splinter's smile grew the widest when he spotted his middle son trot towards him, three-fingered hands full of a plastic pocket chess set. He said nothing, watching the boy kneel before the box and set up the board with intense care. There were pieces missing, as it had been foraged from a dumpster on the surface, but they made do with rusty pennies painted black or white, with a letter in a contrasting colour to indicate which piece they were. His son was always white, but he only won sometimes.

Watching Donatello move a tiny pawn a space forward, Splinter mused. He regretted his inability to quench Donatello's thirst for knowledge. The boy was always anxious to know how this worked, what would happen if he did this, and Splinter did not always know the answer. A lot of the time, he would let Donatello experiment, finding old radios and toy cars to take to bits and examine. What astonished Splinter more was the child's skill to put them back together again, sometimes working. The chess set had been a birthday present not too long ago, and Donatello requested a match every Sunday evening. It was a humbling and proud moment when Splinter was defeated for the first time.

It was routine now. After dinner, Michelangelo, the youngest of the boys, and Raphael, the eldest's twin, would glue their eyes to the television and laugh in delight at the antics of a talking Great Dane and his friends, just for half an hour. Leonardo would curl up with a book, usually a tome thick and dusty with fantasy, just for half an hour. And he and Donatello would submerge themselves in a game of chess, just for half an hour.

This Sunday was just like any other Sunday. Raphael and Michelanglo's laughter trilled in the air, overpowering the sound of the television, of pages turning, of the chink of chess pieces. After the time was up, Raphael would turn off the television, Leonardo would shut his book and Donatello would pack up the chess set. This time, Splinter added another defeat to his tally, realising chess just wasn't his game anymore.

Leonardo handed his book back and wished their father goodnight in a most angelic way. Raphael followed his twin's example, allowing a chaste kiss to be placed on his leathery forehead, before dashing off to their beds with Leonardo. As Donatello finished clearing up the chess pennies, Splinter took the baby of the family into his lap. Michelangelo clung to his father's robes, mouth split into a huge, familiar grin as he quickly recounted the Great Dane's terrifying adventure that night.

"...An' it was the museum owner who was the mummy!" The eight-year-old exclaimed in excitement, peering up to catch his father's chuckle. He waited for it to vanish before speaking again. "Can I ask you somethin' Master Splinter?"

"Yes you may Michelangelo, but then you must go to bed, as it is getting rather late," Splinter nodded his permission, noticing Donatello yawn widely, waiting to say goodnight himself.

"Is Fred Daphne's boyfriend?" The little boy wondered curiously, sitting up to look at the rat. Splinter paused and thought for a moment before answering.

"Possibly, my son, or they may just be very good friends," He replied calmly, smiling at Michelangelo's puzzled look.

"Boys and girls can be good friends? But girls are gross!" Michelangelo proclaimed in disgust, pulling a face. Donatello made some sort of agreement, nodding profusely.

"You may change your mind in a few years," Splinter chortled at their shared looks of revolt.

"Nuh uh! Raphael's my boyfriend!" Michelangelo disagreed passionately. Splinter blinked and looked at him in mild amusement.

"Boys do not have boyfriends Michelangelo, they have _girl_friends," He said tenderly. Michelangelo shook his head, pouting terribly.

"No, they can have boyfriends too! We saw it on tv!" He argued hysterically.

Splinter sighed at his youngest's stubborn expression and glanced at Donatello, who was nodding in understanding. There was no way the old rat was discussing sexuality and such at this time. It had been difficult enough explaining girlfriends to Michelangelo, he wasn't about to have a go at outlining exactly what the little boy was insinuating with such a statement. No doubt he didn't fully understand its meaning and was just expressing his close relationship with his brother.

Splinter _had _raised them as brothers, but the only blood relation he was certain of was that of Raphael and Leonardo. It was clear to anyone but a blind man the two were twins, they shared the same physical features, the same tone of emerald jade skin and the same shade of amber eyes. But he was unsure of any kinship with the others, emphasised by Donatello's olive skin and hazel eyes, and Michelangelo's forest green colour and piercing blue eyes. As a result of this, and their mutation, he had wondered whether their primal instincts would eventually dominate over their brotherhood.

Still, now was not a time to discuss or ponder it.

"Very well, I hope you two will be very happy together. Now, off to bed," He smiled wearily.

Michelangelo grinned and obediently kissed his father goodnight and scampered off to his own bunk. Splinter sighed again and looked levelly at Donatello, who stared right back, inquisitive and imploring. The chess set was packed away neatly and he held it against his plastron.

"Is Leonardo _your _boyfriend?" The old rat asked tiredly, rubbing his temples. Donatello pulled a sickened face and gave a noise of dissension.

"Ew no, Leo's too anal," He scoffed, waving his hand in dismissal. Splinter blinked in shock.

"Anal?" He repeated numbly.

"Yup! 'Night Master Splinter!" Donatello reached up, kissed his father as best he could on the side of his furry face, and then followed his little brother to bed.

Grumbling to himself, Splinter pulled his creaking bones out of the wicker chair and made his way to the bookcase he kept beside the television. Pulling out a weathered dictionary, he began to thumb through the loose yellow pages. He vowed to forbid Donatello from reading any books that barely mentioned the word "sex"... and hoped to god anal didn't mean what he thought it meant.

The End

A.N: I love you all for reading this far. Thank you.


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